It’s cold outside. It’s cold inside. When I started my car yesterday, I discovered the glass was completely frosted over on the inside. I distinctly remember my husband enticing me with this move because, as he put it “The average temperature in winter is 40”. I guess I missed out on the “average” bit of that statement; it should follow that we will have some pretty damn warm days here in late winter, if that average is going to hold out. For my American friends, where I am living experienced its earliest snow in 17 years. Last year we saw the most snow they’ve seen in 30 years. How bad…

On the playground recently (not today, today it looked like the Arctic tundra out there), in discussing who actually had the coldest house, one of the mums looked at me and said: “Part of being British is being generally uncomfortable.” I can understand this. Electricity is far more expensive here than at home, so it pains me to turn on the heat during the day. It pains me to run the little space heater, too. I find myself yelling “Close the door, do you live in a barn?” – or something about not wanting to heat the outdoors – when the kids leave the back door open. Our house, lovely…

Christmastime always makes me sentimental. Maybe it is the unwrapping of Christmas ornaments, reliving the memories that they invoke…I’m not sure, but it’s guaranteed that Holiday Inn (the movie – not the hotel) WILL make me tear up, and that I’ll share happy moments with Boo and Pea as they rediscover their favorite holiday decorations. Then again, I’m a sentimental fool, anyway, so any sappy movie, holiday or otherwise, or a home movie will also make me weep. The same goes for my husband (sorry baby, I had to call you out.) I get particularly blubbery over my wedding video – there really was a very special feeling in the…

Thanksgiving, schmanksgiving, it’s not celebrated over here and thinking about it will make me the teensiest homesick for family…so I’m not gonna talk about it. So. Um. Yeah, this is awkward. *crickets chirping* Speaking of awkward… I am a tad bit clumsy. Ungraceful. Awkward. I am always tripping over my own feet. Or my own laundry basket, during which stumble I tried to catch myself and slammed my toe into the wall. And broke my pinkie toe. At about 8 months pregnant. (To be fair, I couldn’t SEE my feet. I prolly couldn’t see the basket under me, I was so big. But we won’t go there.) Or, there was…

The other day, Pea ran out of school to meeting, and said with much excitement “Momma, I’m a rag doll in the school play!” , to which I replied “A rag dog?? That’s wonderful!” She looked at me crossly and said, “Not a rag doll mommy – a RAG DOLL”. Confused, I said “That’s what I said — a rag doll.” She stomped her foot in yelled in frustration “not a raag dahl, Mommy – a RAHG DOHL”. Fantastic. Now I’m getting lessons in enunciation from a 4-year-old who calls pajamas “kajamas”. Now, let’s get one thing straight – I am from the Midwest. Hence (according to my husband and…

Do you remember Garanimals – the line of kids clothing from the 70’s that had little tags hanging on it, and anything with a purple elephant matched everything with a purple elephant? Which was,  in the end, pointless, because as soon as you brought the clothes home you had to cut off the tag. And then you were once again on your own to make the apparently challenging decision of what tops went with which bottoms. *to be fair to Garanimals, which I realize is still in business, they now color coordinate the tags. Pea would likely love them, given how much of a rule follower she is. However, Garanimals…